


Oh, To Be A Child In Love

by Random_ag



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Closure, Friendship/Love, Graphic Description of Corpses, I Am Not Over Their Relationship And Neither Should You, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Quiet, Skeletons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25004833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: “Sweet heart that you are.” he smiles, and the outline of his teeth presses against his ghostly lips, “You will have to let me go.”The child reaches out, curling branch-like fingers around a once rosy palm: “I don’t think I want to.” he murmurs.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	Oh, To Be A Child In Love

“I made you something.”

Hands like the ashen bark of a tree carefully place a crown weaved from the stems of many wild flowers on golden hair. Underneath them the pale skin has a crack on the forehead going down, down, down, to the socket of a broken eyelid that cannot open again. A thin grin curves the remaining blue iris.

“It’s lovely.”

“I made it just for you.”

“Thank you. Thank you, it’s very pretty.”

He blinks slowly: his scarred fingers reach for the blooms above his head, testing the petals, how soft they are under his touch, how their perfume expands into the air when he presses them.

“Sweet heart that you are.” he smiles, and the outline of his teeth presses against his ghostly lips, “You will have to let me go.”

The child reaches out, curling branch-like fingers around a once rosy palm: “I don’t think I want to.” he murmurs.

“You need not do it all today, or all tomorrow, or the day after that.” he reassures him, “Take all the time you need, feel all you need to feel. But promise me only this: one day, you will let me go.”

They gaze at each other. Wide amber eyes observe the dark marks swirling on the candid face.

“Why do you want me to?”

How tired is the ghastly smirk.

“I am very tired, I’m afraid.” he cups the coarse cheek in his hands and brushes his thumb on the pale swirling sign crossing it. “And I want you to be happy.”

The child answers not; instead, he curls into the thin chest of the warrior, a ball of once feathered wood. His friend chuckles.

“You should not sleep on me. I’m not warm anymore.”

“It’s the only way you can hold me.”

The blond mane drags the skull to the ground with it and the calm voice erupts in gentle laughter. His weak, slim arm caresses the so very beloved little body, wrapping around the little shoulders with a kind of soft adoration.

“Sweet heart that you are,” he says, “I am the branches, the leaves, the bushes, the roots and grass and dirt where you fall asleep. I am all that holds you and sorrounds you when you wish for comfort.”

His ribs are held from underneath the heavy armor plates.

“You promise me?”

“I promise you.”

“Then I am the wind that sings through your ears, and that kisses you, and that always reaches you no matter what, and never stays too long.”

“You promise me?”

“I promise you.”

Oh, the warrior sings. To be a child in love.

* * *

The hero comes to the sacred forest many times more after all has ended and every last tear has been cried. Deep inside the labyrinth of wood it feels like home, in a strange and contorted way, with its ancient trees and half collapsed ruins challenging the skies while they hold secrets of a past untold and unseen by men.

The imp allows him to wander and explore without a care, much calmer than he has ever seen him be before; instead of calling his gnarled puppets with the notes of his trumpet he keeps himself busy walking on the thin branches that cover the sight of the sky, arms outstretched to balance himself as he sings softly of a youth going to meet their true love. His voice, despite its weakness, echoes through the woods clearer than day itself.

The hero feels the rocks and rough bark under his callous palms as he climbs across them. He has a feeling deep in his gut directing him - to where, he doesn’t know. But he follows it.

It is thanks to such an instinct that his careful eye catches a strange little detail. It’s a cave, carved inside a cliffwall and half hidden by a mischievous elderly tree’s leaves: dirt has filled it in slowly through the passing of countless decades, but still a bony hand’s last phalanxes peek from the earthy layers to sustain an ancient skull, the pauldron of a crimson armor protectively covering its sunken cheek and a crack running deep across one of its sockets, reminder of a wound that managed to only partially heal when the flesh hetched upon the bone was still rosy and breathing and flushing scarlet with now long gone life.

And yet lovingly placed upon the corpse’s head still a crown of wild flowers lays, bright and soft despite the rot taking hold of the petals.

“Oh,” the imp sings so far away, “To be a child in love.”


End file.
